Dame Hilda:  You may not know this, but if you want to get to Stackton Tressel from London by train, you can't. You see, we haven't got a railway line. We did have, but it was what they called a branch line and somebody lopped it off. So now, if you want to get to Stackton you have to go to Maltby Magna and then get the bus or the taxi. There's one of each. And the same man drives both. Unless, of course, there's a funeral in which case he’ll be driving the hearse. Well, one day last autumn Evadne and I visited friends in Essex and we decided to take the train for a change. And it was a change, too. On the way back, we had to change five times, would you believe? I had fewer changes in ‘Perchance to dream.’ Well, as you can imagine, it was getting quite late by the time we got out of the train to make our last change.

{Railway station.}

Dame Hilda: We seem to be the only people who have got off here, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Well, we're obviously the only people going to Maltby Magna.

Dame Hilda: Not much sign of life, is there? {Hoot!} Just us and that blessed owl. I think he's glad to see somebody.

Dr. Hinge: You shouldn't have worn your furs, Hilda. He probably thinks you're his supper.

Dame Hilda: I shudder to think what he thinks you are. And what time’s our connection due?

Dr. Hinge: In about ten or fifteen minutes, according to that ticket collector at Mapleford, apparently it comes off a siding somewhere. Can you see a siding?

Dame Hilda: Well, no, dear, but I probably wouldn't recognise a siding if I was up one. I was never a trainspotter. Perhaps we should ask somebody?

Dr. Hinge: Whom did you have in mind, the owl?

Dame Hilda: Well surely there must be a porter about somewhere. Or we could ask in the buffet, I fancy a cup of tea.

Dr. Hinge: A buffet on a station this size. Mind, if you're really gasping, you could always stick your head under that tap over there. Or else remove the mop and drink straight out of the bucket.

Dame Hilda: If I’d known it was going to be like this, I'd have brought a hamper.

Dr. Hinge: If I'd known it was going to be like this, I'd have brought a survival kit. Mind, if we'd done as I said and taken the car we'd have been home hours ago.

Dame Hilda: It's all very well for you, dear, you don't have to drive. No, today's made a nice break for me. I've been able to see a bit of the countryside. I say it's getting a bit nippy out here. Why don’t we go and sit in the waiting room?

Dr. Hinge: I thought you liked seeing the countryside.

Dame Hilda: Yes, well, there'll probably be some pictures of it in the waiting room. There's almost certainly to be one of Llandudno and probably one of Pevensey bay.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, two places we haven't changed at today.

Dame Hilda: Oh, come on, Evadne, open the door, dear.

Dr. Hinge: I can't. It's locked.

Dame Hilda: Locked? It can't be locked. It's a waiting room.

Dr. Hinge: I'll just put my shoulder to it.

Dame Hilda: Now I know why you wear that dreadful old overcoat with the padded shoulders.

Dr. Hinge: Do you want me to open this door or not?

Dame Hilda: Yes, of course I do, dear, but do let's try to be ladylike about it.

Dr. Hinge: Anyhow, I think it's probably just dropped.

Dame Hilda: Ah, well, in that case, I know exactly what to do, there's a knack. You just do as I say, and we'll be in in two ticks. Now, take the door knob in your right hand.

Dr. Hinge: My right hand?

Dame Hilda: Right, or your left hand if you prefer it.

Dr. Hinge: Now, which do you want, Hilda? The left or right or doesn't it make any difference?

Dame Hilda: It doesn't make any difference, really.

Dr. Hinge: Then why complicate things? I shall take it in my right hand.

Dame Hilda: Right. Turn the knob to the left.

Dr. Hinge: Right.

Dame Hilda: No left.

Dr. Hinge:  Oh, Hilda!

Dame Hilda: Now, put your left hand on your right hand and lift the door.

Dr. Hinge: Lift it... Mnnn... yes?

Dame Hilda: Have you lifted it?

Dr. Hinge: As far as I can while it's still on its hinges.

Dame Hilda: Oh, it's all right, dear. I'm not criticising. Now, keep lifting it. And at the same time pull it across to the left as hard as you can.

Dr. Hinge: Yes​?

Dame Hilda: Now….

Dr. Hinge: Mmm!

Dame Hilda: Yes, all right. Now, when I say go, push for all you’re worth. And at the same time, put your right knee in and don't lose your balance or you’ll fall flat on your face. Now, are you ready?

Dr. Hinge: I'm ready.

Dame Hilda: I think you must be, you've gone ever so red in the face, so, go!

Dr. Hinge: Oooh!

Dame Hilda: I told you to watch your balance.

Dr. Hinge: Well, at least we're in.

Dame Hilda: We'd have been in in complete silence if you'd done it properly. Do you suppose we can get a light on in here?

Dr. Hinge: Well, I suppose we could always feel the walls for gas brackets.

Dame Hilda: Ah, no need I’ve found a switch. That's better, isn't it?

Dr. Hinge: Better than what? If you ask me, it's even bleaker in here than outside, and just about as dim. Not even a picture of Llandudno. And this bench must surely be original, probably early Victorian.

Dame Hilda: Feel at home on it, do you?

Dr. Hinge: I shan't feel at home on anything until I am at home.

Dame Hilda: Oh, you must admit it, dear, it's been an interesting journey.

Dr. Hinge: I think it's been a crashing bore.

Dame Hilda: At least we've seen a bit of the big world outside Stackton Tressel.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, all we've seen is railway stations. We've seen more railway stations today than Thomas the Tank Engine.

Dame Hilda: So, that's what you read in bed is it?  Anyway, I don't mind railway stations. I think they're rather romantic. They all remind me of ‘Brief encounter.’ You know, I half expect to see Trevor Howard and dear Celia Johnson, engulfed in steam, gazing into each other's eyes to the strains of Rachmaninoff and eating bath buns.

Dr. Hinge: Trust you to know what they were eating.

Dame Hilda: And that's another nice thing about today. It's the first time for ages that I’ve had a bar of chocolate out of a station machine. And you know, chocolate out of a station machine always tastes quite different to any other sort of chocolate, I don’t know why?

Dr. Hinge: Because it's stale.

Dame Hilda: That chocolate that I got at Walton isn't in the least stale, it's gorgeous. Here, would you like a piece?

Dr. Hinge: Well, I wouldn't want to deprive you.

Dame Hilda: Oh, it's all right. I've got plenty.

Dr. Hinge: Thank you. I say, how many bars have you got in that bag of yours?

Dame Hilda: Only eight now. Well, there was only just the dozen in the machine. And I didn't like to ask them to refill it. Might have looked a bit piggish. After all, they wouldn’t know I was going to share them, would they?

Dr. Hinge: Share them! This is the first piece I've had.

Dame Hilda: Not with you, dear, with our cats. Patience, especially adores station chocolate. I think way back there must have been railway cats in her family, that’s probably why she's always so fascinated when she sees you shovelling coal on the fire. You never worked on the Stockton to Darlington, did you?

Dr. Hinge: You know, Hilda, I think the main reason I prefer travelling everywhere by car is that when you're driving, you don't talk so much. Or if you do I can't hear you above the crashing of the gears.

Dame Hilda: What you hear isn't the gears crashing, dear, it's your old bones rattling every time we go over a bump.

Dr. Hinge: And the reason your bones don't rattle is because you eat far too much chocolate.

Dame Hilda: I say, I wonder if there's a weighing machine on this station?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, not again. You've weighed yourself at every stop since Walton on the Naze.

Dame Hilda: Yes and do you know I haven't put on a single ounce today. Despite eating all that lunch and almost four bars of chocolate. Oh, Evadne? Evadne, what's that?

Dr. Hinge: It's something scratching at the door by the sound of it.

Dame Hilda: Well, it must be something awfully big, that doors shaking. And so am I come to that.

Dr. Hinge: I’ll have a look out of the window. Oh, it's all right, Hilda, it's only a dog, presumably wants a bit of company, which is something obviously in very short supply around here.

Dame Hilda: Oh, poor thing. Oh, let it in I'll give it some of my chocolate.

Dr. Hinge: Very well.

Dame Hilda: Do be careful, though, dear, we don't want that dog going for your throat.

Dr. Hinge: Well, come in if you're coming!

{Dog barks and runs off.}

Dame Hilda: Well, that's seen him off. And I thought you had a way with dogs.

Dr. Hinge:  Oh, heavens, I shall be glad when this dreadful day is over. Just look at this dreary hole. I do wish we'd taken the car.

Dame Hilda: Just because I refused to take that car. You have been determined not to enjoy today, haven't you? As a matter of fact this station reminds me of a train journey I took during the war.

Dr. Hinge: Oh no, I've had more than enough about your train journey during the war. They were always extremely long, extremely dark and the train was always full of sailors.

Dame Hilda: No, be fair, dear. Not always. Nearly always, I grant you.

Dr. Hinge:  You know, I sometimes wonder how we ever managed to win the war at sea. Most of our sailors seem to have spent the entire duration travelling about England by train with you.

Dame Hilda: Well, then you'll be happy to know that on this particular train I now have in mind, there was not one single sailor.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, full of married ones was it? Ha, ha, ha.

Dame Hilda: Oh, a joke. You’re cheering up, aren’t you? But you're wrong, dear, it wasn't full of sailors at all, guess again.

Dr. Hinge:  Do I have to?

Dame Hilda:  Go on we’ve nothing else to do, guess again. Now, what was the train full of?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, very well. It was full of... airmen?.

Dame Hilda: Wrong again, it was full of sheep.

Dr. Hinge: Sheep?

Dame Hilda: Yes, sheep.

Dr. Hinge: What on earth were sheep doing on a train?

Dame Hilda: They were on a sheep day return. Ha, ha, ha. Yes! No, seriously, dear. They were going from one place to another, the same as you are. Though I must say they weren't bleating quite as much as you. It was when I was a land girl and me and another land girl, Vicky Dean, had to take a flock of sheep from our farm to another farm, oh, miles away and we went by train.

Dr. Hinge: Why?

Dame Hilda: I don't know. It was wartime and everything was very hush, hush, you know. Anyway, we ended up on a little station just like this, me and Vicky Dean and about 200 sheep. They stretched from one end of the station to the other. You couldn't see the platform at all it's was the biggest sheepskin rug I've ever seen.

Dr. Hinge: What were they doing on the platform? I mean, shouldn't they have been in the goods yard or sheep pens or something?

Dame Hilda: Well, they should have been, dear, yes. But between you and me, our sheepdog was working against us.

Dr. Hinge: Your sheepdog?

Dame Hilda: Yes, we only found out later. It was a German sheepdog.

Dr. Hinge: Another one of your silly stories.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, it's the absolute truth, dear. It was a Welsh collie, but it had been born in Bavaria. Quite close to Berchtesgaden and it never really settled down here. In fact, I don't think Vicky Dean, and I would ever have got those sheep where they were going had it not been for the timely arrival of a truckload of G.I.s.

Dr. Hinge: I thought the armed forces would appear sooner or later.

Dame Hilda: As a matter of fact, Vicky Dean married one of those G.I.s and went to live in Ealing.

Dr. Hinge: Ealing?

Dame Hilda: Florida.

Dr. Hinge:  Oh! Where, no doubt she keeps the lucky sheep’s foot in her purse.

Dame Hilda: Oh, I've no idea, dear. The last I heard she was wrestling with alligators. Oh. I say it's jolly quiet in here isn’t it?

Dr. Hinge: It is when you stop talking.

Dame Hilda: Shh! Evadne, I can hear somebody walking about out there.

Dr. Hinge: Well, it is a station, dear. But if you're worried why don't you go and have a look?

Dame Hilda: No, no, no, you go and have a look. You were so successful scaring that dog off. Oh! Oh! Oh, Evadne! Oh, look! A face at the window.

Dr. Hinge: Judging by the cap and badge, Hilda, I'd say that was a porter, one does occasionally find them on stations.

Porter: Good evening, ladies. I'm sorry if I startled you. But be quite honest I saw the light and I thought you might be Vandals.

Dame Hilda: Vandals, do I look like a vandal?

Porter: Well, how do you tell these days? Do you know I come in here one morning about seven o'clock, week or so back? There were a fella in a green three piece suit and kid gloves unscrewing the doorknob off that door.

Dr. Hinge: What was he doing, trying to get in?

Porter: Nope, he weren't.

Dame Hilda: Trying to get out then?

Porter: Nope. He was trying to nick the doorknob, they’ll take anything, railway memorabilia, they calls it. Used to be known as thieving. See, where them marks is up there on that wall.

Ladies: Yes, yes.

Porter: Used to be a picture there, there did.

Dame Hilda: Don't tell me. Llandudno?

Porter: No matter a fact it was Pevensey Bay.

Dame Hilda: Well, I was close, wasn't I?

Porter: Not unless they moved Pevensey Bay you weren’t. Anyhow, cut a long story short, that were nicked about three months ago. You see there, now, you see there across there on the far platform there, it was a big sign up there saying Milden Priory, that went an’all.

Dr. Hinge: Why did it say Milden Priory?

Porter: Well, so folk would know where they was at, that's why. Which since it's been gone they haven’t.

Dr. Hinge: But this isn't Milden Priory.

Porter: There you are, what did I tell you?

Dr. Hinge: Surely this is Bradfield Green,

Porter: If it is I’ve been working on the wrong station best part of twenty five years.

Dame Hilda: Well, don't look at me, Evadne. You said we had to change at the first stop. All I did was get out.

Dr. Hinge: That's what the ticket collector at Mapleford told me, the first stop.

Porter: Ah, well, if you was coming from Mapleford, this ain't the first stop. Not this time of night. No, at this time of night, the next stop's the first stop. If you follow my meaning. And this stop ain't a stop at all, least ways not properly speaking. Well, you know, it ain't been since they stopped half the stopping trains stopping here. And that was a few years back. Well, you see, they do stop, but they don't, if you see what I mean. Some do, some don't, yours didn't.

Dame Hilda: Ah, but ours did.

Porter: No, but it shouldn't have. That'll have been an unscheduled stop. You can't stop the odd unscheduled stop. You should have stopped on it.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, do stop it!

Dame Hilda: Don't, Evadne, please, don't, you’ll only encourage him.

Porter: No. You want to be at Bradfield Green.

Dr. Hinge: We know perfectly where we want it to be.

Dame Hilda: We really want to be a Maltby Magna. Well, Stackton Tressel, really. But there isn't a station at Stackton Tressel.

Porter: You'll not get a train there then, will yer?

Dame Hilda:  And anyway we left the car at Maltby Magna.

Porter: Shame you didn't leave here, really.

Dr. Hinge:  Well, we can all be wise after the event. Now, what time is the next train to Bradfield Green?

Porter: 11 minutes past six in the morning.

Dame Hilda: In the morning?

Porter: Yes, now that one will take you straight through to Maltby Magna without changing.

Dr. Hinge: Do you mean we have to wait in this godforsaken hole for nine hours?

Porter: That's about the size of it.

Dame Hilda:  Oh, no.

Porter: Neither of you plays dominoes, I suppose?

Dr. Hinge: Well, I must say, Hilda, that this looks like being the end of a perfect day. And all because you so selfishly refused to take that car.

Dame Hilda: Don't pout Evadne. You look like something on a fishmonger's slab. But no one shall say that I am selfish. If it will please you, I’ll gladly walk to Maltby Magna and fetch the car.

Porter: Walk? What to Maltby Magna?

Dame Hilda: Well, how long do you think it would take me?

Porter: Well, I’ve no idea, really. But in that dress and them heels I'd lay money on a six eleven beating you to it.

Dame Hilda: Well, in the event, I didn't have to walk to Maltby. Oh, Evadne, didn’t talk me out of it, the rotter. So I had to talk myself out of it. Anyhow, it transpired that the porter lived in a house, tucked away on the far side of the station, to which we all adjourned. And from his office there he set about telephoning round in search of a solution to our problem. But not before he had settled us quite cosily, in an adjoining room. Here we were soon ensconced in front of a blazing fire, sipping black tea from enamel mugs, and tucking into door step sandwiches.

{Station house.}

Dame Hilda: The railways, oh, look, a ride in the puff puff. Johnny the engine driver. Oh, ‘Tickling in the tunnel’.

A tickle in the tunnel is a lark, my boys

A tickle in the tunnel in the dark, my boys

It’s nice to take your Mary Jane

A riding in a railway train

And have a jolly tickle in the tunnel-o

Dame Hilda:  Oh. I bet he was a bit of a gay dog in his day.

Dr. Hinge: Shhh! he's coming.

Porter: Oh, ladies. I've made a few inquiries. I've spoken to ‘arry, and yes, you could get a taxi.

Dame Hilda: Oh, good.

Porter: Not really, You see, at this time of night, over that sort of distance, comes a bit pricey.

Dr. Hinge: How much?

Porter: Seventy five pounds.

Dame Hilda: Seventy five pounds. We could get a hotel room for less than that.

Porter: Course you could. Oh, our little hotel’s very reasonable.

Dr. Hinge: Perhaps we should try to get a room there then.

Porter: Yes, that's what I thought. But you're out of luck I'm afraid.

Dame Hilda: Oh, it's not full?

Porter: No. It's closed. Closed last Saturday, opens again Easter.

Dr. Hinge: We were hoping to be home by Easter.

Dame Hilda: Isn't there another hotel anywhere here-a-bouts?

Porter: Oh, yes, there is.

Dr. Hinge: Where?

Porter: Maltby Magna, but that's not a lot of help. So, anyhow I’ve put out a few feelers for the upper echelons at British Rail. And it's just possible we might be able to get a non stopper to stop ‘ere just to pick you two up. Mind you, ladies, if we do, I'll ask you to keep it under your ‘ats. It's something we normally only does for the Queen Mother, and of course, Jimmy Savile.

Dame Hilda: Oh, that would be marvellous.

Porter: Well, they’ll be ringing me back in a couple of shakes.

Dr. Hinge: We really are most grateful to you.

Porter: Oh, you've been looking at the music, have you? Either of you play?

Dame Hilda: No, but if Evadne tries sometimes.

Porter: Oh, no one's touched that piano since the wife died, it's a shame, really. Oh, I'd like to hear it played.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I'll play it for you with pleasure. But if I do, I warn you, Hilda’s bound to sing along.

Porter: Oh, so you sing a bit, do you?

Dame Hilda: Well…

Dr. Hinge: Now come along Hilda, no false modesty. Admit it, you do sing, a bit.

Porter: I tell you what I would like to hear again. This one ‘ere,

Dame Hilda: Yes.

Porter: It was the Missus’s favourite that one. Funny, really, because it ain't about the train journey, it's about a bus journey. Mind being musical like, she was always more interested in the tunes. With me being more literally like, you know, it were the words. Bit of a Jack Sprat us, except neither of us like fat. {Phone rings.}Ah, that'll be the word about your special I shouldn't wonder, not be a jiffy, don't go away now.

Dame Hilda: We know this song, Evadne. Chalk farm to Camberwell Green. It was one of Gertie Miller's songs from Bric-a-Brac. Just pick out the beginning, dear, will you? very quietly.

Dr. Hinge: Very well,

Dame Hilda: Please. No, I actually mean the tune, dear, not the oompahs. I can't sing the oompahs.

Dr. Hinge: What makes you think you can sing the tune?

Dame Hilda: Evadne, if this wasn't somebody else's piano I'd be very tempted to smash the lid down on your digits.

Porter: Ladies, you'd be pleased to know you got yourselves a train.

Dame Hilda: Ah.

Porter: It's going to stop and pick you up special.

Dame Hilda: Oh, that's wonderful. Have I got time to powder my nose?

Porter: Got plenty of time. It's what we call the milk train. Goes through here about half past two in the morning.

Dame Hilda: You know, Evadne, I'm so glad we didn't take the car today. It's an age since I went home on a milk train. Do you know? This reminds me of one time during the war when Vilma Filma and I were going up to Romford…..

Dr. Hinge: Oh, shut up, Hilda, and sing.

Once up to London, I went for the day

Everything there seemed so lively and gay

I met a fellow at regular swell

Said I was looking so rosy and well

He whispered kindly, now don't make a fuss

We'll have a ride on the top of a bus

Up came the bus and on front could be seen

Chalk farm to Camberwell green

Chalk farm to Camberwell green, all on a summer's day

Up we climbed on the motor bus and we started right away

When we got to the end of the ride, he asked me to go for a walk

But I wasn't Camberwell green, by a very long chalk.

Up on the bus, it's so lovely to ride

Especially if there's a chap by your side

There he was sitting, it really was grand

Half of the time he was holding my hand

He said, there may be pick pockets or worse

So I had better look after your purse

But I remembered the words I had seen

Chalk farm to Camberwell green

Chalk farm to Camberwell green, all on a summer's day

Up we climbed on the motor bus and we started right away

When we go to the end of the ride, he asked me to go for a walk

But I wasn't Camberwell green, by a very long chalk

Chalk farm to Camberwell green, all on a summer's day

Up we climbed on the motor bus and we started right away

When we go to the end of the ride, he asked me to go for a walk

But I wasn't Camberwell green, by a very long chalk

Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor